Headstrong
by Castielle
Summary: Wee!Chester, AU. Dean is 14, Sam 10. When John's late back from a hunt, it's down to Dean to hold the fort. But what happens when he realises his kindly neighbour is in serious trouble? He has to help, doesn't he? Dean!Whump, warnings for strong language.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Headstrong

Rating: K+, mainly for Dean's potty mouth and the presence of blood.

Summary: Wee!Chester, AU. Dean is 14, Sam is 10. When John is late back from a hunt, it's down to Dean to hold the fort. But what happens when he realises his kindly neighbour is in serious trouble? He has to help, doesn't he?

Author's Notes: Hi! This is my first attempt at a Wee!Chester fic, so I'm a little nervous about posting. I've been writing it for the last few days and I'm pleased to say it's almost complete. I'll be posting regularly, in the form of several short chapters so you won't have to wait long in between postings. Reviews are, as always, welcomed.

Headstrong

Chapter One

The rickety old house was deathly silent, which in itself made the hairs at the back of Dean's neck stand on end. If there was one thing he could be certain of about his kindly neighbour, it was that she was a fizzing ball of teenage energy trapped in a much older person's body - she couldn't stay silent anymore than Sammy could stop reading his geeky books or he could stay out of trouble for more than a day, and that was why he liked her. She hummed as she worked, stomped as she walked, Hell, she even snored as she slept - they would often hear her late at night through her open bedroom window as he and Sammy helped dad clean his weapons when he returned from a hunt. Something here clearly wasn't right...

A small voice at the back of his head warned him that he should go back home and wait for dad. He was due back any minute, it insisted, and he was supposed to be watching over Sammy. If dad found out that he'd left his ten year old brother alone in the house he wouldn't be able to sit down for a whole week, the ass-whooping he'd get, but that pesky voice sounded so much like his annoying little brother having one of his spoilt-brat hissy fits that Dean just snorted and continued with his search. He needed to find Mrs. K, even if just to reassure himself that she was okay.

The house was dark, the only visible light coming in through the kitchen window via the street light from out the front. As tempting as it was to reach for the light switch to illuminate his path, Dean decided against it - he didn't want to startle Mrs. K if she simply happened to be fast asleep in her living room, (not that he expected things to be that simple), or at worse, startle her would-be attacker. No, his dad had trained him to move around in the dark. He just needed a few more seconds for his eyes to adjust.

There, that was better. Creeping forwards slowly, placing one foot carefully in front of the other so as not to make a noise, the fourteen year old scanned the hallway ahead of him, taking in the familiar sight of his neighbour's shoes, her coat and that God-**awful** flowery hat hanging limply on the rack. Mrs. K went everywhere with that fugly thing, he remembered with a grin, but it quickly disappeared at the realisation that if the hat was still here, then his neighbour should be, too. That wasn't good.

He pressed forward with his search, the fear for his friend's health clawing uncomfortably at his insides, but the kitchen was empty, the same way the bathroom was empty, just as the living room and back room were void of any inhabitants. Brow furrowed with worry, Dean headed for the stairs to check out the other floor. His foot had barely touched the first step when he heard a noise behind him. Fighting the instinct to freeze, Dean loosened his grip on the handrail and spun in the direction of the sound, arms raised in a defensive position.

Nothing.

Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, the young hunter let his eyes roam the darkness, watching for any sign of movement close by.

Still nothing.

Putting the sound down to his imagination, Dean turned back to the stairs and once again made to climb them. This time it was the eerie presence of something standing behind him that stopped his progress, the feel of someone's soft breath at the back of his neck.

Holding his own breath in anticipation, reassuring himself that yeah, something was definitely behind him, he reacted on instinct, an instinct his daddy had drilled into him from day one: incapacitate first, ask questions later. His bony elbow connected with something solid, a surprised 'oof' breaking the silence as he followed through with a sharp kick to the unknown person's knee. Dean wasn't worried it was his elderly neighbour that he was hurting - he'd recognise the woman's flowery perfume anywhere, she wore it almost as much as that **damned **hat, and the sickly aroma wafting in from his would-be attacker now they were close to him left a bitter taste at the back of his throat: decomp! Whatever was in the house with him had been dead for some time...

Ghoul, vampire, zombie? In a split second the possibilities swarmed through his head like a plague of locusts, followed swiftly by pain as his assailant fought back, knocking him headfirst into the handrail with a loud crack. Dazed and cursing loudly, Dean stumbled backwards and lost his footing on the step behind him, tumbling gracelessly to the floor with a solid thump.

In the few seconds it took him to recover, check he wasn't bleeding and clamber back to his feet, Dean heard a stifled scream from his neighbour's cellar followed by the ominous creak of a closing door. Without thinking, he darted for the door and threw it open, taking in the pained mewling sounds echoing up through the darkness as the desperate need to find his neighbour overwhelmed him. He didn't have time to ease his way carefully down the steep, concrete stairs as a swift jolt at the middle of his back stole the decision from him. The damn ghoul/zombie/vampire had played him, he realised with a groan as he toppled down the unforgiving steps, hitting the wooden floor beneath in a tangled sprawl. It was his last conscious thought before true darkness claimed him.

A/N: Dun dun dun! Poor Dean... So, yeah, you guessed it. This is going to be a Dean!Whump fic, with a little H/C thrown in for good measure. Just the way I like it! Let me know what you think, next chapter coming shortly!


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Headstrong

Rating: K+, mainly for Dean's potty mouth and the presence of blood.

Summary: Wee!Chester, AU. Dean is 14, Sam is 10. When John is late back from a hunt, it's down to Dean to hold the fort. But what happens when he realises his kindly neighbour is in serious trouble? He has to help, doesn't he?

Disclaimer: Eek, I totally forgot the disclaimer on the last chapter! Nothing recognisable is mine, it belongs to people much better than I :)

Author's Notes: Well, reactions have been great so far! Thanks to those who have reviewed, keep them coming!

Headstrong

Chapter Two

Sam stifled a yawn and sought out the proudly ticking clock on the wall, wrinkling his nose at the yellow-stained wallpaper. The previous owners had been smokers, his smart ten-year-old mind reasoned, his attention wandering to the salt-lined window as he spotted how late it was, the evening's shadows crawling closer. Dad should be back soon, hopefully with food. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since first thing that morning and he vaguely wondered how Dean had managed to get by eating so little these last few days. But then he'd most likely been sneaking next door to visit their crazy neighbour, Mrs. Kingsley. The lady was enamoured with his older brother, inviting him over to mow her lawn, clean her windows, hang pictures and move furniture, rewarding him with heaps of homemade pie and ice cream when he'd finished that would leave him stuffed for days. Sam would giggle when Dean returned home after his visits, belly full, crashing on the couch in exhaustion where he'd sleep the rest of the day away. His brother would never admit it, but he idolised the woman. She was the older, wrinklier version of Dean Winchester: loud and obnoxious with a penchant for loud rock music, but she also had a kind heart and a smile to break everyone else's.

Scraping his chair away from the table, Sam hopped across the cold floor in his bare feet and headed for the kitchen. Dean wasn't back from next door yet, probably wouldn't be for a while, so he'd just have to find something to keep his grumbling belly occupied until dad came home. His choices were limited. Week-old bread but no butter, cheese that probably shouldn't be that green, and a half-eaten sandwich he remembered Dean making at the beginning of the week. **Yuck**.

Slamming the fridge door closed in resignation, Sam returned to the table and his book, once again glancing at the clock and wishing his dad would hurry up.

* * *

Dean could hear voices.

Or maybe it was a lone voice... He couldn't make out the words through the loud, insistent ringing in his head but it sounded like yelling. Or maybe it was screaming? He wanted to beg them to be quiet, the voice causing his head to pound furiously, but he couldn't force the words out past his lips. Opening one eye slowly, regretting it almost instantly as his headache increased tenfold, the fourteen year old realised belatedly that the noise he was hearing was in fact coming from himself. Clamping his mouth shut, the silence was rewarding, his headache dulling and allowing him to listen intently for signs of his attacker.

Nothing.

But he'd stupidly fallen for that trick before, hadn't he? He could kick himself, but instead raged silently, forcing his other eye open and taking a deep breath before attempting to move. He braced himself, knowing it was about to hurt.

"**Goddamnsonuva**-"

Yeah, hurt was the understatement of the decade. Biting back his grimace of pain, Dean rolled onto his back and rested his aching head against the cool wooden floor, mentally checking off body parts and confirming he was still in one piece.

He was, for the most part. His left wrist throbbed in time with his racing pulse, most likely broken during his fall, matched by the jack-hammer going off in his head, and he could feel a mass of bruising rising to the surface the longer he lay there, but there was no blood. That was what mattered. He should probably get up though, he thought idly, his thoughts trailing off into nothingness...

Jerking back to reality, Dean struggled to remember where he was. "**Shit**, concussion," he muttered, blinking to clear his thoughts. He was supposed to be doing something, finding someone, wasn't he?

"**Sammy**!"

He jolted upright, fighting against the wave of dizziness and nausea at the too-sudden movement, cradling his swollen wrist to his chest as he searched the darkness for his young brother. But wait, Sammy was safe at home. He could picture him clearly now, swotting over some geeky book as part of his homework assignment. He was safe. Dean had checked the salt lines before he'd left, he was sure he had. So who was he searching for?

The door at the top of the stairs opened with a clichéd creak of its hinges, jamming the frequency to Dean's calm, collected thoughts and leaving him channelling the terrified fourteen year old boy that he thought he'd stashed permanently deep inside his mind. He risked a glance at the doorway, the light from the hallway illuminating the outline of a tall, slim body. Not a presence he recognised, which could only mean one thing: it was his attacker.

Fighting the overpowering urge to play dead, reasoning that if he didn't move he wouldn't attract any attention, Dean scrambled backwards across the dusty floor until his back hit the cellar's stone wall. Sucking in a lungful of air, he let his good hand search around nearby for anything he could use as a weapon, finding nothing but dust-bunnies and empty cardboard boxes. Crap! Where was the sawed-off Shotgun when you needed it?

Soft footsteps crept closer, the shadowy figure descending the stairs and heading for his position. The light coming in from the top of the stairs was both a blessing and a curse. It meant he could see as the figure, a woman, he quickly realised, headed for him, but it also meant he could **see** as the woman came for him.

"Back the Hell off, lady," he growled, relieved his voice still sounded strong, even if his body betrayed him by trembling uncontrollably. Damn concussion. His threat was met with a chuckle as he pressed his bruised body further into the wall, breaking out in a nervous sweat.

The sickly sweet smell of decomposition choked his senses, quickly clogging his pores. " 'the hell are ya?" he gasped, tasting the rankness of the woman at the back of his throat with every swallow. His mouth watered mercilessly as his stomach churned, the nausea rising, but the woman didn't realise, or chose to ignore, the effect she was having on the young boy as she crouched before him.

"Not a very good hunter, are you, Dean?" Her voice was silky soft, crawling over his skin in a feather-light caress that transformed his trembles into shivers.

"Fuck you," came his quick reply, once again searching for something to use as a weapon. "Ow!" Dean sucked in a breath as his wrist caught on something sharp, a discarded shard of glass sticking out of the floorboards, or could it be metal? He didn't know but it really fucking hurt and now he could feel the ominous trail of blood tickling a path down his arm as he pulled it back to his chest.

The coppery scent of his blood filled the air, eliciting an angry reaction from the strange woman before him. "You shouldn't have done that," she warned, an instant before she struck.

A/N: More soon! Please review and let me know what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Headstrong

Rating: K+, mainly for Dean's potty mouth and the presence of blood.

Summary: Wee!Chester, AU. Dean is 14, Sam, 10. When John is late back from a hunt, it's down to Dean to hold the fort. But what happens when he realises his kindly neighbour is in serious trouble? He has to help, doesn't he?

Disclaimer: Nothing recognisable is mine, it belongs to people much better than I :)

Author's Notes: We find out a little something about Dean in this chapter - bring on the Sick!Dean...

Headstrong

Chapter Three

The sound of a key in the front door woke Sam from his unexpected nap, bleary eyes snapping open and instinctively checking to see if the salt lines were still in place. They were. Nothing was getting in here without him knowing about it. He yawned tiredly, running a small hand through his mop of hair.

"Sammy? Dean?"

The youngest Winchester's brown eyes widened in surprise, a delighted grin taking his sleep-drawn features hostage. "Dad!" In an instant he was at his father's side, arms thrown up in the air begging for a hug. John smiled lovingly at his youngest boy, his heart fluttering at the devoted look of love and happiness on Sammy's face. He hoped the kid never lost that adoration for him.

Dropping his bags to the floor, he crouched down and swept his ten year old up into his arms, ignoring the squeal of 'that tickles!' when he kissed him on the nose and caught him with his unshaven face. "Where's your brother, Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. "He's gone next door to see the crazy lady again. Said he's gonna bring back some pie!" John chuckled at little Sammy's exasperated expression. "He'll probably eat it all before he gets back, he always does," Sam whined, the telltale sound of his belly grumbling eliciting a giggle from both father and son.

"You hungry, kiddo?" John asked, the answer obvious as he lowered Sam back to the floor. "Because I know someone with pizza. Go get cleaned up and let's see if we can't eat it all before Dean gets back from the crazy lady," he laughed. Sam was gone in an instant, feet pounding across the bare floor.

Mrs. K was crazy indeed, John thought with a smile, but crazy in a good way. She always took great care of Dean and Sammy while he was out on a job, never interfering but ensuring they came to no mischief and were well fed. He'd been away longer on this hunt than he would have liked, and he'd definitely be having words with Dean about leaving his brother alone, but he could see that all of the salt lines were in place, and he knew Dean was only looking out for Sammy so he wouldn't be too hard on him. When his kid was hungry, he could persuade even the most law-abiding citizen to turn to crime so he knew Dean would only have left him as a last resort.

Grabbing his bags he headed upstairs. He had a date with the shower and a ten-year-old to stuff full of pizza.

* * *

Time seemed to stand still.

Dean couldn't help but snort at that one. Time couldn't stand still, dumbass, it was simply that the vampire before him moved so fast that his concussed brain struggled to keep up with her. Or maybe it was shock, but the next thing he became aware of was teeth, no, make that sharp, pointy fangs, buried deep into his wrist, and fuck, did it hurt.

The pain was indescribable, instincts yelling at him to pull away or fight back, but the tug of her teeth on his skin was a stomach-churning sensation. She slurped as she drank down his precious life fluid, eyes rolling to the back of her head in ecstasy, but she sensed as he was about to react, one hand suddenly pinning him to the wall and crushing his broken wrist beneath her unforgiving touch. Damn, the freak was strong.

Dean couldn't hold back the scream of pain her grip caused him, but it seemed to wake her from her feeding frenzy, teeth slipping away from his wrist as she wiped his blood from her mouth. He tried to crawl away, put as much distance between them as he could manage, but his head chose that moment to set the room spinning and he found himself slumped sideways, head once again resting on the floor. He kept his broken wrist cradled to his chest but couldn't find the sense, nor the strength, to drag his bleeding arm towards him. He watched in dismay as the blood continued to seep from the wound, coating the floor with it's redness. This was bad.

Had he taken his medicine? He couldn't remember, fear, concussion and pain clouding his judgement. Dad would know, so would Sammy. He'd have to ask them when he saw them next. He laughed at that one, the voice that sounded so much like little Sammy reminding him that he was bleeding to death on the floor of his neighbour's cellar. He wasn't going to see either of them again, stupid.

Closing his eyes, ignoring the voice inside his head, he felt his body trembling harder than before. He had to get out of here, and soon. If he didn't, there was nothing to stop the vampire from taking Sammy when she realised he was home and all alone. He should never have left him.

His internal monologue drowned out the female vampire's next words as she rose to her feet and walked away, heading for the stairs. Wait, was she just going to leave him there to bleed to death? He thought about calling her back, fear for Sammy coursing through him, but as he lay on the cold floor he caught the faint sound of knocking coming from upstairs. She was going to answer the door.

For a fleeting moment terror overtook him as he pictured Sammy up there trying to find him. How long had he been gone for? Did his brother realise that he needed help? But a rational voice pointed out that the knock was too loud for a ten-year-old, especially a beanpole like Sammy. Straining his ears for the sound of the door opening, he closed his eyes and thanked whatever deity that happened to be watching over him right there and then. He could just make out a deep masculine voice greeting the vampire as she opened the door. Probably some clueless door-to-door salesman.

Now was the perfect time to make a break for it, Sammy's voice informed him. He had to move while she was distracted, however temporarily so. Easier said than done, he thought with a groan, forcing his protesting body upright. The room whirled around him faster, the nausea almost crippling him but after a few deep breaths the room started to settle, enough for him to put his plan into action.

Dean almost debated calling for help. In her haste to answer the knocking, the vampire had left the cellar door ajar. Would the stranger upstairs be able to overpower a vampire, or would he be sentencing the man to a premature death? He wasn't sure, but he needed to get out and back to Sam before she noticed him missing.

Taking a deep breath he dragged his steadily bleeding arm to his side and gripped the corner of his shirt in his shaky fingers. It took more strength than he realised to tear the bottom of his Led Zeppelin t-shirt, eventually securing himself enough material to use as a makeshift bandage. He had to use his mouth to bind it tight, his broken wrist all but useless, but it would have to do. How quick the bleeding stopped all depended on whether he'd taken his medicine recently...but for the life of him he couldn't remember. The blow to the head must have been harder than he realised.

Okay, now for the difficult part, he sighed. He had to get to his feet and up the stairs before the vampire came back. Bending his knees, he braced his bruised back against the rough wall and pushed with all his might. He could feel each and every ache and pain as he rose but it was worth it as he fought to keep his balance once standing.

Shit, remember to breathe idiot, he scolded himself quietly as his vision started to waver, black spots dancing before his eyes. He couldn't waste any more time!

Darting forwards, his gait unsteady, Dean tried to use his bandaged arm for balance. Even so, his path was uneven, his legs wobbly, but he made it to the bottom step before having to stop to catch his breath.

That was when he heard it, the soft whimper coming from a corner of the room where the light from upstairs couldn't penetrate. He froze, one foot on the step - freedom calling to him, practically screaming at him to go. But the reason he was here in the first place chose that particular moment to re-enter his concussed brain: Mrs. K!

It was a hard choice for any fourteen year old boy to make: save yourself or help another, but for Dean he was screwed either way. If he stopped to help Mrs. K and the vampire got to Sammy, his life wouldn't be worth living. Not when dad got hold of him, and not only that, he just couldn't. Life without his pesky younger brother would be no life at all. But if he left Mrs. K and she died...he couldn't live with that either. Crap, talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Sammy came first, he decided, a grim scowl on his face. It was stupid really, there should never have been any hesitation in his decision. "I'm sorry," he whispered dejectedly to the dark corner of the room. "I'll come back for you," he promised, gripping the handrail as he dragged his weary body up the stairs, one slow step at a time.

A/N: So this may be the last chapter for a while. The story's not really getting the reaction I was hoping for, so I'm leaving the decision to you guys - shall I continue? Review and let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Headstrong

Rating: K+, mainly for Dean's potty mouth and the presence of blood.

Summary: Wee!Chester, AU. Dean is 14, Sam, 10. When John is late back from a hunt, it's down to Dean to hold the fort. But what happens when he realises his kindly neighbour is in serious trouble? He has to help, doesn't he?

Disclaimer: Nothing recognisable is mine, it belongs to people much better than I :)

Author's Notes: As promised, the next chapter. My sincere thanks to everyone kind enough to encourage me to continue.

Headstrong

Chapter Four

John ran a hand through his damp hair, whistling as he left the bathroom. Padding downstairs in his sweats he found Sammy in front of the TV, sitting far too close as usual.

"You'll end up with square eyes, kiddo," he teased, walking over and ruffling his hair. He'd have to see about getting the boy a haircut, it was turning into an out-of-control mop. Sam looked up at him with a large grin on his face. "Really? Square eyes would be so cool, dad! But can we have pizza now?"

"It's in the car, lemme grab it and I'll get your brother on the way," he chuckled, rolling his eyes at the boy's one-track mind. Throwing on his jacket and shoes he headed out into the darkness.

What was taking Dean so long, anyway? He'd been back a good half hour himself and there was still no sign of the kid. Was he looking for an ass-kicking? Anything could have happened to Sammy in the time he'd been gone. They'd be having some serious words before they went back indoors. Jumping the waist-high fence into his neighbour's driveway, too lazy to walk the short distance around, he reached the door and gave a hard knock.

It was a tense few minutes before he heard anyone moving around inside and he almost knocked again before the door opened part way to reveal an unfamiliar young woman. She looked to be early to mid twenties, with chin-length blonde hair and heavy eye makeup. She smiled as she looked him up and down. "Can I help you?"

"My son, Dean. He came over here earlier to visit with Mrs. Kingsley. I'm here to take him home." The woman's eyes narrowed at his abrupt manner, a look of confusion passing over her pale features. "I'm sorry, you must be mistaken. I've been here all day and no one has stopped by to visit my grandmother. She's unwell, you see. She's unable to entertain visitors at the moment."

John just stared, allowing her words to sink in. Where the Hell was Dean if he wasn't here? "Y'sure?" Stupid question, Winchester, he berated himself as the woman gave a worried half smile and went to close the door. "I'm sure, now if you don't mind...?"

"Yeah, sorry..." John felt his anger rise as he turned to walk away, wrinkling his nose as the door was practically slammed in his face, sending a sickly sweet odour drifting his way. Not only had Dean left Sammy on his own, he'd disappeared without even bothering to let anyone know. What the Hell was he playing at? He'd better get his scrawny ass back home soon or there'd be Hell to pay.

Stomping towards the Impala, John wrenched open the door and grabbed the pizza box from the back seat before returning to the house. Sammy looked up at his arrival, sensing the anger radiating from the man. "Dad?"

"Eat up, Sammy. We've gotta find your idiotic brother."

* * *

"D-Dean? Darling... That you?"

The young hunter stumbled, catching himself on the handrail as he made his way up the steps, wincing at the pull on his bandaged arm. His heart shattered into a million tiny pieces at the confused voice of his neighbour, a sob catching in his throat as he fought against the urge to run to her side. It was tearing him apart... But no, he had to get to Sammy. Sammy came first, remember? Sammy was the important one. It was such a simple, well practised litany but the words terrified him. Sam's safety was his one sole purpose in life, his reason for breathing, for waking up each day. He couldn't screw this up, he just couldn't.

" 'm coming back," he muttered quietly, words slurring as he took another slow step, almost at the top now. " 'm coming straight back..."

But Fate was a bitch, born and bred, clearly not on his side tonight, if she ever had been.

A shadow fell over him, the blonde vampire blocking the doorway above him as she returned much sooner than he'd anticipated. His heart sank, legs already weakened now turning to jello as he soaked up her venomous glare. "And just where do you think you're going?"

"I needed some fresh air," he answered with a snarl, bracing himself as firmly as he could on the narrow steps. The last thing he needed was a second fall to the unforgiving floor below. "Something stinks around here."

The vampire smiled, taking a step closer. "Not trying to get back to daddy dearest, are you? Because he just stopped by, y'know," she purred, an evil glint in her dark, soulless eyes. "Said I can have you. Didn't even put up a fight when I told him you were bleeding down here in the dark. He doesn't want you home any more, Deano. You're mine now."

Dean knew without a doubt that her words were lies, but a nasty voice in his head, not Sammy this time, took great pleasure in reminding him of all the times his dad had looked at him with that disappointed, 'what-did-I-do-to-deserve-a-son-like-you?' look. All the times he'd outright ignored him or left him alone to watch over Sammy, with barely any food left in the house and just enough cash to cover them for a few days, all to go on one of his stupid hunts where he'd be gone for an entire week. So yeah, the words may not have been the truth but they still fucking hurt to hear.

The vampire stole a little closer, enjoying the warring emotions on the fourteen-year-old's bruised face as he fought his internal battle. He was a little rough around the edges but damn was he pretty, and cocky for sure, but he possessed a strength that her recent victims lacked. It made this all the more exciting. Obviously her mama had skipped the lesson that taught her it was wrong to play with her food.

Dean blinked slowly, raising his glazed green eyes to meet her icy stare. She could see the cogs turning in his smart young brain, a little sluggish due to the knock to his head, she was sure, but she knew the moment he came to a decision, whatever that happened to be. She smiled, ready for whatever he wanted to throw her way. He was most likely going to beg. Her food had a nasty habit of doing that to her, but she usually just ignored it.

Dean relaxed as a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders, his slim frame already weighed down enough, he decided. Dad was home, which meant Sammy was safe. Which meant he had no reason not to stay and help Mrs. K. Which meant the only thing standing in his way was the bleached blonde skank standing in front of him. He could deal with that. He was Dean Winchester after all.

* * *

A/N: A massive shout out to ChelseaWinchester, Dreamlitnight, Lobita, Alienmom, Lilou42, Storylover26, Apester, Moira4eku, Lilly Emerald and Namida1407 for the encouragement to continue. Once again, my sincerest thanks! I hope you like the latest chapter, and more will be coming soon! Don't forget to review, let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Headstrong

Rating: K+, mainly for Dean's potty mouth and the presence of blood.

Summary: Wee!Chester, AU. Dean is 14, Sam, 10. When John is late back from a hunt, it's down to Dean to hold the fort. But what happens when he realises his kindly neighbour is in serious trouble? He has to help, doesn't he?

Disclaimer: Nothing recognisable is mine, it belongs to people much better than I :)

Author's Notes: The end is near...

Headstrong

Chapter Five

"...Dad?" John's eyes left the road to glance at Sam, watching as the boy fidgeted uncomfortably in the passenger seat of the Impala. He was working hard to control his anger, he really was, but he could feel it radiating off him in waves and he was certain that Sam was picking up on the bad vibes too. He needed to calm down, but he couldn't. Not until he'd found Dean and smacked some sense into the boy's head. He'd said it a million times already, but what the Hell was the kid thinking? He loved both his boys, they were his life, but Dean could be a handful sometimes. It was the reason he was so hard on the kid in the first place. In his line of business he needed to know who he could rely on, trust with his life, dammit, and a fourteen-year-old that ran out on his little brother certainly wasn't one of them. "Dad, are you even listening?"

"What is it, Sammy?" He forced his voice to remain calm, eyes returning to the road ahead.

"Do you think Dean could be in trouble?" John snorted, not needing to voice the answer to that one. If Dean wasn't in trouble now, he sure as Hell would be once John got his hands on him. "Dad, I mean it. What if he's hurt? I haven't seen him taking his medicine recently. What if he's cut himself and had to look for help? We should try the local hospitals first." It was sound logic, way too smart to be coming from the kid sitting next to him, John frowned, but he knew already that things hadn't played out that way. The minute Dean hit the hospital he would have rung to let John know. He let his eyes wander to the deathly silent phone as if to prove a point. No, Dean was most likely out trying to hustle someone at pool or score some time away from the house and his responsibilities.

Sam swallowed a sigh, turning to stare out of the window as the trees and buildings whizzed past. His dad was obviously still in hunter mode, hyped up on the adrenaline, and wouldn't listen to a word of reason. He hated it when he got like this, and he hated even more the fact that Dean was missing. It was terrifying. He'd been gone over an hour now, in which time anything could have happened. He could be hurt, bleeding to death somewhere, or worse, dead. His chest tightened as a wave of terror ran through him, tears filling his eyes. Dean couldn't be dead, he couldn't.

John heard sniffling coming from beside him and glanced out of the corner of his eye, his anger at Dean disappearing with the tears rolling down his younger boy's face. Shit, he should have seen this coming. "Hey, Sammy..."

"Just leave it, dad," the ten-year-old snapped, refusing to meet his father's gaze, wiping furiously at the tears tickling a trail down his face. "Dean's probably dead in a ditch somewhere and we won't know until we find him; a rotting, stinking corpse!"

"Samuel Winchester, if you dare-" but his enraged words broke off suddenly.

Shit. Decomposing...

John stomped on the brakes, the Impala shrieking wildly as it came to a halt amidst a cloud of burning rubber and smoke. Sam stared straight ahead, mouth open in shock with both hands gripping the seat in terror as he struggled to remember how to breathe. They could have died! What the Hell was his dad playing at?

"Shit, stupid fucking...dammit! I'm an idiot!"

Sam finally remembered to breathe as he watched his father punch the steering wheel and curse, ramming his head back into the headrest as if punishing himself for something. What had just happened? Without warning or explanation his dad threw the car into reverse, turning the Impala back in the direction of home before putting his foot down. "Dad, you're scaring me," Sam whispered, terrified.

"Oh, God, I'm an idiot. I should have realised... The smell! She fucking stank like a rotting corpse and I just let her lie to my face... What have I done?"

Sam was confused, unsure of what to make of the scene playing out in front of him. He didn't know what scared him the most: the fact that his dad was rambling like a mad man whilst driving insanely over the speed limit, barely in control of the vehicle, or the look of absolute terror on the man's face. John Winchester only had two emotions: calm and angry-as-fuck. To witness him falling apart in front of him like this was...wrong. "It's okay, dad," he soothed, not knowing what else to say. He didn't quite understand what had just happened but he knew it had something to do with Dean and if this was his dad's reaction he knew it couldn't be good. They needed to get to him, and fast. "Don't worry, Dean. We're coming for you," Sammy promised, a determined scowl on his face.

* * *

Dean felt the wet tears as they slipped down his cheeks. Putting on his best weakened voice, acutely aware that he didn't have to pretend as hard as usual, the fourteen year old met the vampire's stare and sobbed, "please, you have to let me go."

The vampire reacted precisely how he'd anticipated. Score one for Dean Winchester, bitch, he smirked as the blonde rolled her eyes in disgust. The second her eyes left him, Dean jumped the last step separating them and ploughed headfirst into her, clenching his teeth against the protests of his battered and broken body.

They connected with a solid thump as they both toppled over. Dean screamed as he landed on his broken wrist but the adrenaline coursing through him kept him going. He had to be quick, she wasn't going to stay down for long. Using his good arm to push himself away from the vampire, he followed up with a right hook to her jaw. It had nowhere near the desired effect but it bought him the time needed to scramble over her flailing body. Weapon, he needed a weapon...

An icy hand clamped around his leg as he made to crawl away but he kicked it off, only for it to latch straight on again. The kitchen, he needed to get to the kitchen. His vision tilted precariously as he fought against the recovering vampire, fingers digging into the carpet to keep his grip but he could feel himself being dragged backwards despite his efforts. Shit, he wasn't going to make it...

Growling in frustration, the vampire dug her long nails into the soft skin of the boy's leg, drawing blood. She was pissed. **No one **played her for a fool. Dragging the struggling boy towards her, she flipped him easily onto his back and delighted in his stifled cry of pain as he cradled his broken wrist close to him. She liked the sound of his pain, revelled in it, and decided that she wanted more of it.

Dean screamed again as she straddled the lower half of his body, pinning both hands above his head with one of her own, the tears real this time. He was hyperventilating, lungs working overtime as he struggled to get away, but he was too weak, the pain, blood loss and fear leaving him drained. He could feel consciousness slipping away as the vampire moved in closer, her blonde hair tickling irritably at his neck as she viciously twisted his head to one side.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you, Dean," she admitted truthfully, tasting his racing pulse with the tip of her tongue and enjoying the look of disgust on his pale face.

"I hope you get indigestion, bitch," Dean growled, defiant to his last breath. She sunk her teeth into him without hesitation, his pulse racing beneath her bite, and started to drink. He tasted so sweet, like candy. She could easily get addicted to him. She'd happily keep him around if he wasn't such a pain in the ass. Maybe she would anyway... He wouldn't last long but it would be worth it.

Dean felt the darkness overtaking him. He was going into shock, he knew that much, but he couldn't bring himself to care right then. The last thing he heard before the lights went completely out was the sound of splintering wood as someone kicked down the front door.

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the chapter being a day late! I hope you enjoyed - review and let me know!


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Headstrong

Rating: K+, mainly for Dean's potty mouth and the presence of blood.

Summary: Wee!Chester, AU. Dean is 14, Sam, 10. When John is late back from a hunt, it's down to Dean to hold the fort. But what happens when he realises his kindly neighbour is in serious trouble? He has to help, doesn't he?

Disclaimer: Nothing recognisable is mine, it belongs to people much better than I :)

Author's Notes: Huge apologies for the late posting, but the wait is over! Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter, it's seriously appreciated :D

Headstrong

Chapter Six

"Sammy, you need to stay in the car," John ordered, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument as the Impala screeched to an abrupt stop. "I'm gonna get your brother."

The ten-year-old could only nod solemnly, brown eyes wide with fear, not trusting his voice as he fought back another wave of tears. '_Please be okay, Dean,'_ he begged silently, the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. '_You can't leave me, **please**...'_

John didn't waste any more time with niceties, launching himself from the car and around to the hidden stash of weapons in the trunk, his thoughts racing at a mile a minute with images of what could be happening to his son. He'd never forgive himself if Dean was... If the vampire had... No, he couldn't even bring himself to think it. Dean was strong, a survivor. If anyone could come out of this smelling of roses and with a shit-eating grin on his face, it was his boy. Grabbing the necessary gear, John raced towards the house, not even risking a backward glance at his youngest to ensure he'd followed his orders. He'd just have to trust that he had; there was no time to waste.

Sammy watched in silent horror as his father attacked the door, throwing his shoulder into the solid wood with little effect. What if they were too late and Dean was already dead? He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he knew Dean was in serious trouble and he'd never seen his dad this terrified in his life. '_Calm down, Sammy,_' he reminded himself, sucking down a large gulp of air. There was no time for hysterics, not now. He needed to be strong, just like Dean. His brother was counting on him.

After the fourth kick the telltale sound of splintering wood could be heard, even from within the car, and Sam watched his father disappear from sight. Time seemed to crawl to a standstill, the passing seconds feeling like a lifetime. "Come on, dad. Where are you?" he whispered, afraid to voice his thoughts too loudly in case he missed something. He glanced out of the window, eyes searching the quiet neighbourhood, thankful that the rest of the street seemed far too busy with their own clueless lives to bother with the Winchester family's situation. There were times when Sam wished he could be like them, part of a normal family, one that didn't know about the monsters hiding in the closet, one where his father didn't actively seek out said monsters and kill them. But if that were the case, who would be there to save Dean now? No one. Sometimes, ignorance was bliss; but the rest of the time it would get you killed. The thought was a sobering one.

Movement from out of the corner of his eye drew his gaze back to Mrs. K's house, squinting to see clearly through the darkness. "Oh, no... **Please**, _no_!" The tears started almost instantly, his heart in his throat as his dad walked slowly from the house, his distressed face pale. In his arms he carried his lifeless, bloodied son.

They were too late.

Dean was dead...

"**DEAN**!"

* * *

John woke from a fitful doze as Sammy shifted position on his lap, his bony elbows digging unceremoniously into his ribs. Grunting at the uncomfortable sensation, the hunter ran a hand through his boy's hair, frowning at how hot the ten-year-old felt beneath his touch. Sam's hair was dripping wet, plastered to his forehead and now that he was fully awake he noticed the whimpering coming from the sleeping child. "Sammy?" There was no response as his son's distress became more obvious, his small frame trembling as the whimpering grew louder and more persistent. "Son, wake up, come on," he encouraged, sitting forward in the hard plastic chair, his own aching body protesting at the movement, but he ignored it as he wrapped his arms around his boy. "**Sam**!"

Sammy woke with a terrified scream, blindly lashing out and smacking his dad in the face with his clenched fist. John grimaced and held him close as he allowed his son time to fully wake up. It took a few seconds for the nightmare to dissipate, Sam's breathing erratic as he glanced around the unfamiliar room and gulped air into his struggling lungs. "Dean?" John felt his heart crack at the sound of Sam's lost, fearful voice. "_Dean_..."

"It's okay, Sammy. Dean's safe. We're at the hospital, remember?" John shushed, trying to calm him down, but Sam was too lost in the memory of his nightmare to hear his words. "Dad, he's dead! We were too late and now Dean's gone! What are we going to do? We were supposed to save him. He's **dead**..." His words came out a jumbled mess, wet brown eyes unnaturally wide as he revealed his fears.

"It was just a dream, Sammy. It wasn't real. Look, Dean's right over there." Sam sniffed, wiping futilely at his tears, following his father's pointed finger with trepidation. Dean was dead, he'd seen him with his own eyes, hadn't he? But, wait...

Lying deathly still, surrounded by beeping and hissing machinery, with countless wires and tubing hanging from his thin body, was his brother. _Dean_. The sight was enough to chase away the remnants of his nightmare, the reality closing in on him and only slightly more reassuring than his earlier terror.

They were in a hospital. They'd made it in time and Dean was alive. Barely, it seemed, but it was a start. Better than the alternative, at least. "You saved him?" John smiled, wiping at a stray tear on the ten-year-old's face.

"No. You saved him, Sammy. You never stopped trying to convince me your brother was in trouble. I should have listened to you earlier. I'm sorry, kiddo," John admitted, a sad smile on his tired features. He'd so easily believed that Dean was being a brat, shirking his responsibilities. He had a lot of making up to do, to both Sammy and Dean. As soon as Dean was released from the hospital, he'd take some time out of hunting to spend with his family. He more than owed it to them.

All he needed now was for Dean to wake up. "Come on, son," he encouraged with a whisper as Sam settled his head back against his chest. "Come back to us..."

* * *

A/N: Come on, Dean... Wake up, LOL! I'm sad to say the story's almost at an end. I know there's a lot left unresolved at this point but we'll be getting to that in the next chapter. As I'm back at work, I unfortunately can't guarantee a new chapter for tomorrow, but I will try my hardest. Leave me a review, they always encourage me to write faster! I take this opportunity to once again thank everyone that has reviewed, favourited and alerted the story. I appreciate every single one! Until next time...


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Headstrong

Rating: K+, mainly for Dean's potty mouth and the presence of blood.

Summary: Wee!Chester, AU. Dean is 14, Sam, 10. When John is late back from a hunt, it's down to Dean to hold the fort. But what happens when he realises his kindly neighbour is in serious trouble? He has to help, doesn't he?

Disclaimer: Nothing recognisable is mine, it belongs to people much better than I :)

Author's Notes: Apologies for the delay, I'm working as fast as I can... Enjoy!

Headstrong

Chapter Seven

Dean felt the first stirrings of pain as awareness slowly crawled back to him, a part of him silently craving the bliss of unconsciousness once again. Things were...peaceful there. No pain, no fear, no worries. He tried opening his eyes, the effort much greater than he would have thought possible, but he eventually succeeded, groaning quietly at the bright lights that stung his blurred, sensitive vision. Damn, that hurt.

"Dean?"

A rustling nearby caught his attention, his mind momentarily too confused to recognize the sound of his father's voice as a shadowy figure moved nearby, a wave of panic washing over Dean without warning. He had to get away. It was coming for him...and then it would get Sammy. But where was he? And where was Sammy? Oh God, he'd left him at home alone, hadn't he? While he was...he was... What was he doing? Dean felt the fear rise as he couldn't string his memories into sequence, his heart racing at a mile a minute, pounding in his chest as he tried to clear his blurred vision to no avail. The pain rose with his panic until it was everywhere, suffocating him. His neck, his wrist, his arm. His entire body was aflame. "Sammy!" he cried, even through his fear knowing he had to protect his little brother. "Where are you?"

John rose from the plastic chair, all traces of exhaustion vanishing from his concerned features at Dean's unexpected cry. He gently placed a still-sleeping Sam in his place, rushing to Dean's side as the teenager thrashed weakly in his delirious state. "Dean, son, calm down. You're safe," he soothed quietly, placing a gentle hand on the boy's arm, mindful of the bandages covering the vicious bite mark and a litany of bruises, cuts and scrapes. "Hey, c'mon kiddo, look at me."

Dean froze at the touch, not even daring to breathe as vague shards of memories crashed into his consciousness. A cellar. Darkness. _Her_! The **vampire**... He couldn't control the violent shudder that racked his slim frame as the memories slammed back into place. "_No_!"

"Dean, you have to calm down. You'll hurt yourself again, kiddo. Please..." John tried again, shaken by the look of absolute terror on Dean's face as his son screwed his eyes shut tight and shook his head in denial. "**Dean**!" He raised his voice in the hopes of breaking through the nightmare his boy was obviously reliving, but there was no response. He had no other choice, then. "Dean, stand down," he growled. "That's an order!"

Dean froze once more, eyes snapping open as he finally registered his father's sharp words, his panic quickly abating at the familiar deep baritone that was John Winchester handing out orders. His dad was here, which meant the vampire wasn't. Which meant Sammy was safe, and so was he. "...Dad?" Ignoring the shakiness of his own voice, Dean forced the terrifying memories to the back of his mind. He could deal with them later...much later, he decided.

"I'm here, Dean," John responded more gently. "Sammy, too," he added, not intending to allow Dean more reason to panic. He smothered his relieved sigh as he watched the fourteen-year-old visibly relax, his breathing quickly returning to normal, his body only trembling slightly now as he blinked slowly and looked warily around the sterile hospital room. John allowed himself a few seconds to wallow in his own shame at the state of his boy. Dean had almost died, still looked close to death right now, in fact, if the sickly white colour of his skin and the generous scattering of cuts and bruises were anything to go by. If it hadn't been for the doctor's earlier visit, persistently reassuring him that, although he'd lost a lot of blood and looked like death warmed up, Dean was fine and would recover quickly, John would have been terrified that he'd be leaving the hospital the father of only one child, not two. The thought was enough to make him choke on his next breath of air.

"Did...did you get her?" Dean's hesitant question took John by surprise as he forced his own emotions under control.

"Don't worry, son. She won't be hurting you or anyone else for a long, long time. I made sure of it," he promised, a fiercely protective glint in his eyes. Dean's reaction, however, wasn't the one he was anticipating. He'd at least expected relief, but the flash of irritation in the boy's green eyes, dulled by pain, was unexpected to say the least.

"No..." Dean had to pause to swallow, his throat scratchy and unbearably dry. "Dad, did you get Mrs. K?"

Shit, their neighbour. John hadn't seen anyone else in the cellar and hadn't bothered checking the rest of the house, too preoccupied with Dean bleeding to death in his arms. At that moment in time, he was a father, not a hunter. It was stupid and dangerous of him, but he wouldn't change anything if he had to go back and relive that awful moment again. The desperate look in his boy's eyes made him realise his answer about Mrs. Kingsley was an important one.

Crap.

He was saved from having to think of an appropriate answer by a loud rap on the door, a thin, balding man poking his head around the corner with a large smile on his face, glasses balancing precariously on the tip of his nose. "I see you're finally awake, Peter," the man gushed at Dean, striding into the room as he adjusted his white coat and pushed his glasses back up on his nose. Dean threw a blank look at his father who nodded his head ever so slightly, signalling him to play along for the time being. Dean gave the doctor an unimpressed look before letting his eyes fall on his sleeping baby brother, the corner of his blue and red Spiderman t-shirt just visible under his dad's leather jacket that was being used as a makeshift blanket. The smirk that followed the realisation at the chosen alias was genuine, and John had to smother his own grin at Dean who shifted lower in the bed to hide his pained chuckle.

Dr. Ray McKellar , oblivious to the laughter at his expense, spent a few moments checking the various machines and wires attached to Dean before motioning at John to step out of the room when he was satisfied with the readouts. "Mr. Parker, if I could have a word in private?" John nodded, following the doctor outside with a final glance at his two boys.

Dean stole the opportunity to check himself over, his mind lingering on his father's unanswered question and grimacing at the heavy cast of plaster on his wrist. He could feel the remnants of the drugs in his system to dull his pain but they were quickly wearing off, random twinges making his breath catch as he tried to make himself comfortable. Another hour and he'd be screwed. He knew the doctors had to be careful with the medication they gave him, as anything that would thin his blood was life-threatening in itself, but Dean knew the reality of the matter was that he'd need something, and soon.

Thoughts of blood made his stomach revolt, the nausea swirling like a vicious whirlpool in his stomach. Swallowing suddenly, Dean chose to think about something else in an effort to keep it at bay, mentally cataloguing the gauze-covered bite marks on both his neck and wrist as well as the scattering of bruising colouring him a nasty black and blue and filing them away to revisit when the opportunity arose. Never would be too soon. What did the doctor want to talk to his dad about? And while he was on the topic...Peter Parker? Seriously? Obviously the doctor was ancient. Either that or not very clued up on famous superheroes...

Closing his eyes, the fourteen-year-old sighed loudly. He hoped his kindly neighbour was okay, though he knew in reality it was unlikely. Throughout his time in the dark cellar, he'd never actually seen her, had he? He'd heard her...or, at least, he'd assumed it was her. She'd spoken to him, he was almost sure, but parts of his memory were still foggy and his head was pounding. Not the best of circumstances to be trying to remember things. As soon as he was back on his feet he was finding answers. He wouldn't be able to rest until he did, and he owed it to Mrs. K.

* * *

"Dean? Sammy, come on. We need to get out of here before the doctor comes back." Dean opened his eyes, realising he must have dozed off as his father's hushed voice broke through his hazy thoughts. The room was much darker than earlier and he wondered how long he'd been sleeping for but he didn't have time to ask as he watched Sammy wake from his nap.

John regretted having to do this, knowing full well that Dean wasn't well enough to be moved yet, but he had little choice. The doctor had questioned him a little too intensely on how Dean had sustained his injuries, his given explanation of his son toppling down the cellar stairs and cutting himself on a glass lamp in storage not standing up as well as he'd hoped. No, they had to move, and now. The last thing he needed was the police showing up, or social services. "Sam, can you carry my bag? I'll help your brother. Just head straight for the car, okay?"

Satisfied with Sammy's sleepy nod, John turned to Dean and fretted over the easiest way to do this. Whatever happened, this was going to hurt his boy, he thought with a reluctant sigh, wanting to spare his eldest from any more unnecessary pain. He'd managed to pocket some pain meds and strong antibiotics while the doctor had left to 'make some calls', as well as some Advate to keep Dean's clotting problem under control, so once they were back home he could get Dean settled properly, but that didn't help him now, did it? "Dean...' he started, but his eldest son took a deep breath and simply nodded his consent.

"Jus' do it, dad," Dean slurred, the pain and exhaustion evident in his quiet voice.

"Alright, kiddo. Let's do this."

Throwing back the bed covers, John grabbed his jacket from Sam and helped Dean sit up slowly so he could slip his arms through the soft material. He knew his boy was trying to disguise his pain, a nasty habit he'd picked up in his teen years, but the sheen of sweat that broke out on Dean's face was evidence enough. "I'm sorry, son, there's no easy way of doing this. It's going to hurt," he whispered, not wanting Sammy to overhear. He didn't give Dean a chance to brace himself, knowing that anticipating the pain would only make it worse, so he moved as quickly as he could, sliding his arm under his son's legs and scooping him up into his arms.

Dean's stifled whimper was like a dagger to his heart.

"C'mon, boys. We're outta here."

* * *

A/N: Well, it looks like the next chapter should be the last... I hope everyone's still reading and enjoying, review and let me know! Thanks :D


End file.
